


Guilt

by AnnaMouse



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Family, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-23 01:57:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaMouse/pseuds/AnnaMouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Shepard's death, Liara and their daughter Samara try to cope with the loss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note:
> 
> This story is a sequel to ‘Transitions’ and closes out that work’s story-arc. I recommend you read ‘Transitions,’ ‘Mass Effect: Longing,’ and ‘Recollections’ prior to reading this story. 
> 
> Mass Effect is owned by Bioware/EA; regards and gratitude to them for creating a universe which is so fun to play around in. This work is for my own amusement without financial gain, and is fair use. 
> 
> This story contains graphic depictions of mental illness, suicide, and harsh language. If that is something that makes you uncomfortable, you may not want to continue. 
> 
> Regards and thanks to all those who gave me the advice and feedback that helped me get this out the door.
> 
> On a personal note, thank you all for joining me on this journey with Victoria, Liara, and their family and friends. It has been a fun, and cathartic, exercise telling their story, and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I have.
> 
> Dedication:  
> This work is for all those who we couldn’t save.

**Prologue:**

“Move!” Kelly Chambers shouted at her.  Samara looked into the eyes of one of her parents’ closest friends, her late grand _father_ ’s mate.  Aunt Kelly had always had the kindest face, the most soothing voice, through all the years of her childhood.  Kelly had helped her parents raise her.  Now her eyes were wide, her teeth bared, her otherwise fair complexion deep red with spiking blood pressure and the guttural scream she now directed her way.  Spittle flew from her mouth, “Move Sam!  Move!”

Kelly handled her roughly; she slammed one hand on her shoulder and pushed.  The other hand reached to the collar of her leather jacket, “Tora, tora, tora!”  Someone slapped her face so hard it burned.  _That wasn’t Kelly._   Her face was on fire, she couldn’t hear anything but a deafening ringing.  _Oh goddess, what’s happening?_ Samara looked back at Kelly.  All her clothes on her left side were shredded.  Her left hip was a bloody mess of sliced and singed flesh.  _Oh mom, help me!_  

Samara felt a _tug_. 

Suddenly she was sitting on the alley floor looking up at the sky.  _Where are all the stars?_ She wondered in confusion.Her thoughts felt fragmented, everything in her field of vision had a slightly grey hue.  She shook her head; the world slowed its spinning, but only barely so.  _What was that?_   She looked to where Kelly had just been.  She wasn’t there anymore.  _Where’s Aunt Kelly?_   She looked at her arms, rolling her hands palms up then palms down to get a good view of all sides.  Her armor, the beautiful armor she’d bought a few weeks ago, was covered in blood.  _Oh goddess!_   _Where’s Aunt Kelly?  Something’s not right_ , a seeming eternity later Samara realized that the blood was crimson, not maroon.  _This isn’t my blood!  Where’s Aunt Kelly?_

Samara looked around.  Kelly was gone.  She was just _gone!_  

A nagging ache drew her attention downward.  Samara shrieked.  Her leg was missing above the knee.  She drew a ragged breath and screamed.

*****

Samara bolted awake from her nightmare to a shriek.  Her heart pounded, she was covered with a cold sweat.  She looked around.  She was home.  She was safe.  She heard a scream, a long, ragged, agonized scream.  Samara’s heart rate accelerated wildly, her eyes darted in all directions.  There was crying from downstairs.  _Mother!_

Samara jumped from her bed, at least as much as her stump of a leg allowed.  She grabbed for the crutch leaning against her end table and nearly tumbled over herself.  _Mother!  Mother I’m coming!_   Samara hobbled her way towards the door to her room in a series of frantic poorly balanced lunges. 

She had to slide down the stairs on her bottom.  _Just like when I was a toddler,_ she thought to herself.  Reaching the main floor Samara erected herself and resumed her awkward race towards the crying noise.  _Mother’s in pain!  I need to help her, mom would help her,_ she thought to herself.  _Mom’s probably still on Earth, it’s up to me!_

Samara rounded a corner and came upon the main foyer.  She took in the scene; Mother collapsed on the floor, her arms crossed tightly over her breasts, mom nowhere to be seen, _she must still be on Earth._   Mother was shuddering, tears streamed from her eyes.  Standing above her were two men in Alliance uniforms.

They all turned to the sound of her dropped crutch.  She stood, for a moment, teetering but still balanced on her remaining leg.  Her mother looked her in the eyes.  She’d never seen her so upset before, not even when they’d brought her back from the hospital after her misadventure in New Orleans.  Samara T’soni’s mother looked broken; the life had gone from her eyes, like all the light in the world had disappeared.  She was an empty shell.  She was desolation.

Samara collapsed to the floor.  _Oh goddess!  Mom!_


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1:**

_Oh goddess, this can’t be happening_ , Samara thought to herself.  _Oh, it is,_ all the facts screamed at her.  She squeezed her eyes tightly shut.

Samara had rarely ever left Thessia.  Even then, it was usually to points within Asari space or the Citadel.  She’d visited Earth several times, but this was her first visit to the Systems Alliance capital on Arcturus Station.  Frankly, she could have just as soon not had to make this trip.

The Alliance’s Parliament House was an imposing structure, doubly so for being crammed inside of a space station.  The great hall, entrance, and rotunda had been cleared for the memorial.  The last of the procession of mourners had filed past the casket as it laid in state in the rotunda.  Doors would soon be opened to allow the throngs of mourners a chance to take their seats in the great hall for the memorial service.  It would be closed casket, thankfully.  Samara had wanted to see her _father’s_ body, to say goodbye one last time, but her mother had forbidden it.  Apparently she was just too _mangled_.

Samara and her mother had arrived the day before.  Ashley Williams and Councilor Anderson met them when they docked.  She had observed, detached, as her mother asked them, “Is it done?”  They had nodded solemnly.

It was difficult getting a straight answer from her mother.  She wouldn’t tell her how Shepard had really died.  She acted so _coldly_ towards her.  All of the concern and sympathy she had directed at her after her _injury_ had just evaporated.  Samara was smart enough to see through the ‘climbing accident’ ruse.  They’d gone mountain climbing many times, Shepard didn’t have _accidents_.  She finally cornered Ashley Williams, “What happened?  Ash, please, tell me what happened.”

Ash regarded her severely.  Samara was more adroit at reading human facial expressions than her mother; Ash was definitely conflicted about something.  She looked almost _angry_ with her, but Samara was just too dazed to ponder why.  Ash looked her up and down.  Her eyes lingered on her cane.  The temporary prosthetic was very good, but she needed extra stability.  Ash took a deep breath and grasped the Asari maiden about the shoulders.  Her jaw clenched.  She took another deep breath and looked her in the eyes, “Sam.  She killed herself, Sam.”  She averted her eyes, “I’m so sorry.  She was too quick for me.  I couldn’t stop her.  She,” Ash trailed off, she was having difficulty getting the words out, she was starting to cry, “She jumped off the top of a mountain.  The one you two used to climb.”

Samara’s heart stopped beating.  _This isn’t happening._   It restarted.  _No, this can’t be right.  She wouldn’t.  She_ couldn’t _.  She was a hero,_ my _hero, she’d never do that.  She’d never leave Mother and me like that.  She was so powerful, so vital.  Just a few days ago she was smearing a bunch of mercs across an alley.  It was amazing._   She didn’t realize it herself, but the fact that Kelly had died and she lost a leg didn’t even enter her mind.

“I’m so sorry Sam.”  Ash’s composure was breaking further.  Samara looked at her.  She couldn’t decide if it was grief or anger, but Ashley, the big bad Spectre, was profoundly upset.  _This isn’t happening._

*****

The memorial began with an ear splitting screeching noise the humans called ‘bagpipes’.  A vanguard of Alliance N7 marines carrying the Systems Alliance and Citadel flags, flanked by soldiers carrying archaic-looking firearms led the procession.  _Are those wood stocks?_   Behind them a bagpiper and snare-drummer played a song called ‘ _the minstrel boy_ ’ so loudly it made Samara’s stump ache.  Behind the piper and drummer were the pallbearers carrying Shepard.  Ashley Williams, Councilor Anderson, and a half-dozen Spectres from the other Council races carried Samara’s _father_ to the center of the rotunda and placed her casket on a small pedestal. 

The rest of the memorial was a blur for Samara.  She didn’t remember any of the teary-eyed eulogies, or the weeping attendees.  She didn’t recall the speeches exalting her _father’s_ achievements, or expressing their sorrow that such a person as Shepard could be claimed by a simple _accident_.  The only thing she did remember was the look on her mother’s face.  As the memorial progressed the expression changed from that of agony to anger.  At one point during the service Liara looked at her, there was _venom_ in her eyes.  _This can’t be happening._

The intervening time between the memorial and when the honor guard loaded her _father’s_ body onto _SSV Normandy_ was a haze.  Samara had a vague recollection of Councilor Anderson sitting beside her and telling her how sorry he was, and how much he had cared for her _father_.  He spoke at length of how he felt Victoria was more than just a protégé; that she was almost the daughter he never had.  He became misty eyed and indicated that he felt that she was like a granddaughter to him, that he loved her and her mother very much, and that he’d always be there for them for as long they needed him.  Hardly any of what he said sunk in.

She recalled looking out the windows of the docking bay and seeing a small armada of ships.  They’d come from everywhere.  Victoria had touched so many lives.  Samara’s eyes teared up.  Suddenly a Quarian Live-Ship flashed into view flanked by, of all things, a pair of Geth cruisers.  It dwarfed every ship in view except the _Destiny Ascension_.  The Quarians had come to mourn the woman who’d given them back their world.

The trip home on _SSV Normandy_ was quick and uneventful.  Joker was particularly kind to her, and EDI kept her company for most of the flight.  Shepard had impacted both of their lives greatly as well.  They both comforted her.  They told her it wasn’t her fault.  They told her Shepard loved her dearly.  Somehow Samara had difficulty believing them. 

*****

Then they arrived home.  Where thousands had attended the memorial on Arcturus Station, the graveside service was comparatively cozy.  An Alliance honor guard laid her _father_ into her grave as the bagpiper blared away at something called _‘amazing grace’_.  A solemn faced marine presented her sobbing mother with a neatly folded flag.  A squad of N7 marines fired their rifles into the sky several times in salute.  _SSV Normandy_ , flanked by a quartet of Alliance F-61 Trident fighters sliced overhead.  Just above the grave the _Normandy_ peeled off vertically and accelerated through the sound barrier with a loud thunderclap in its _missing man_ climb.  Then the Alliance packed up and left.

But Victoria Shepard was as much a daughter of Thessia as she was of Earth.  Fully two hundred Matriarchs assembled in Benezia’s gardens to pay their respects to their fire-haired _maiden_ from another world.  Just as they had done for her grand _father_ , Samara watched the Matriarchs array themselves around Shepard’s grave.  They sang, and danced, and prayed over her.  Likewise, they said a prayer for Kelly.  Asari Matriarchs were some of the most powerful beings in the galaxy; regardless, many of them wept.

Finally, Matriarch Lidanya, former commander of the _Destiny Ascension_ , and Shepard’s colleague at the University of Serrice, spoke softly into a communications unit.  The _Destiny Ascension_ descended into a low orbit, its features discernible from the ground, the ship was so large.  Suddenly its main gun erupted and a bolt of fire streaked across the sky towards the Thessian sun.  Shepard was as much loved and respected by the armed forces of the Asari Republics as by those of the Systems Alliance.  The _Ascension_ and her crew also owed Shepard a personal debt; she had saved their lives at the First Battle of the Citadel.  The other ships of the armada followed suit.  The sky filled with shooting stars, volleyed, _in a safe direction_ , in salute to Victoria.  It went on for some minutes, it was beautiful.

Samara was too numb to manage any more emotion than misty eyes.  _This can’t be happening,_ she repeated to herself.  Liara bawled uncontrollably.  Matriarch Lidanya embraced her, and wept.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

_Stay focused_ Shadow Broker _, there’s still work to be done,_ Liara T’soni thought to herself. 

Four words, _we still need her_ , set her entire information network into motion.  Anderson and Williams were, naturally, amenable.  She wasn’t magnanimous enough to say that Shepard’s death had affected them as much as it had her.  _Shepard was_ mine _; not Anderson’s, not Ashley’s, not the Alliance’s!_   There was no comparison; a part of her _self_ was gone.  In _the bond_ they had become not only one flesh but a single glorious spirit.  That union was broken, now and forever, _I’ll never be the same._   Be that as it may, _she_ was still needed.  And _she_ was going to be there for _them_ ; even if _she_ wasn’t there for _her_.  Anger built up again within her, she tried to remain calm.

Even at a _youthful_ 130-odd years old, Liara had perspective enough to know that the galaxy still needed a hero and role model; even decades after the war.  _And a hero can’t take the_ coward’s _way out,_ she said to herself.  Not that she thought Shepard was a coward; at least she wouldn’t when the emotions waned, but others would think so.  _No one but me will ever know the true well of strength she had_ , Liara thought.  How could they?  The joining was a double edged sword in that regard.  Liara would always know Shepard’s true self, but no one else _could_.  Relaying that connection to others was virtually impossible, _they’ll never understand_. 

Liara was sure that, eventually, she would come to accept that Shepard did what she thought was right; for whatever _that_ was worth.  But that was a realization for another day, perhaps another _century_.  In the meantime, she needed to devote her energies to something.  If not, she’d crack; she just knew it.  _There are others that need me; I cannot lose myself to grief._   She subconsciously reached down to her abdomen, picturing in her mind’s eye the pending swelling of pregnancy.  It was too soon to be sure, of course, but she knew.  She just _knew_ she was pregnant.  Part of her ached that she had conceived without Shepard’s consent, but she was glad she did.  They would never have the opportunity to try for more children; she must have _sensed_ it was their last opportunity.  _If I knew something was wrong, why didn’t I try to stop her?_  The grief, with a spike of guilt, flashed through her psyche.  

*****

Liara barely noticed the memorial service unfolding before her; she was so consumed in her grief.  Anderson droned on about how much he cared for Shepard, how losing her was as like losing a part of himself.  _I_ have _lost a part of myself!_   The Prime Minister of the Systems Alliance spoke at length as to how the human race was lesser for Shepard’s loss. _I am no longer what I used to be, we were each other!  I_ am _lesser without her!_   Liara didn’t even register anything the next speaker, a wizened old Matriarch easily 1200 years old, had to say.

_How could she do this?_   A rage built within her, for the moment it kept the despair at bay.  It was almost as if she could salve the pain with anger.  She tried remembering all of the things that Shepard had done to anger or upset her during their life together.  Everything she brought to mind, however, only served to remind her how much she missed her mate. 

Samara was the sorest point of all.  Shepard had loved her so much, and Samara was so much like her.  Shepard took her own life because she thought that, somehow, it was the only way to protect Samara.  She was wrong, obviously, but that didn’t stop her.  The thought made her angry, furious; she ground her teeth and furrowed her brow.  Liara turned to look at Samara.  She recoiled and looked away, the disbelieving grief plain on her face.

_Oh Goddess!  I’m not angry at you Samara.  I love you so much.  Nothing could ever change that._   She wanted to reach out to her, to tell her that everything was going to be alright.  To tell her that it wasn’t her fault, that she would love her forever.  But she couldn’t.  She was just too paralyzed with grief over her lost love and anger that Shepard thought this was the only way out.

*****

Liara looked at the sky above her.  Hundreds of shooting stars marked the fleet’s salute to her beloved.  It was beautiful.  She ground her teeth, _how can I find this beautiful?_   She cried.  She cried uncontrollably and shuddered.  Matriarch Lidanya placed her hand upon her shoulder.  Liara looked up at her through tear swollen eyes.  _It’s alright,_ her facial expression said as she embraced her.

She and Shepard had always liked Lidanya, ever since Shepard started teaching at the University.  She served as a good counterpoint to Victoria in the history department, though in a surprising way; where Shepard was youthful, reflective, and, sometimes, circumspect, Lidanya was sagely, blunt, and aggressive.  It was no secret amongst the University Faculty, and some members of the student body, how fond Lidanya was of Shepard. 

But, it would surprise many exactly how close they were.  The memory of Lidanya visiting them at their estate and asking them both if Shepard would give her a baby still stood out prominently in her memory.  They had thanked her for her interest, but said no; Liara wanted Shepard all to herself.  Lidanya occasionally reminded them that the request was still open, if they ever changed their minds, but at least she was humorous as to how she went about it. 

At the very least, she had taken an interest in Samara’s life; occasionally spending time with the young Asari and regaling her with stories from her days as a commando Maiden.  _Much to my displeasure_ , she thought.  Liara ground her teeth again, _did_ your _stories turn Samara down the path she followed too?_   The anger spiked within her again.  _No, Liara!_ She thought to herself, _Lidanya is here because she loves you.  Just like she loved Shepard, and still loves Samara.  She’s here to help._

“I’m here for you,” Lidanya said.  “But Sam needs you.”

Liara looked at Samara.  She seemed to have a look of utter confusion about her.  Liara closed her eyes, _she’s so much like her_.

*****

Liara looked at her platinum pocket watch.  The face was cracked from when she threw the end table across the room upon bringing Samara home from the hospital.  She remembered when Shepard had given it to her.  The haiku inscribed on the reverse was so beautiful, even if it did include the double entendre _azure rose_.  It was but one of several physical tokens of affection Shepard had presented her with over the years.  Now it was going into a drawer in her end table.  She couldn’t bear to look at it.  She looked at the iridium wedding band on her finger.  It reflected dully in her bedroom’s lights.  She squeezed her eyes tightly shut over her eyes.  _How could you leave me, my love?  Why didn’t you just tell me what you were feeling?  We could have done something about it._   She ripped the wedding band from her finger and placed it into the drawer as well.

It was childish, she knew, but somehow placing the physical reminders out of sight helped.  In time, perhaps, she would take them back out of the drawer.  Perhaps she would recall the good times, and reminisce fondly of her true beloved.  Maybe she would invite the Matriarch Lidanya over for wine and conversation as to what they each loved about the late _Savior of the Citadel_.  Maybe she would sit in the garden with Samara and tell her about her father, all of her flaws and fears, not just the outward shell of strength that Samara almost always saw.  _Yeah, and monkeys might fly out of my butt_ , Liara imagined Shepard saying.  She sobbed.

Liara didn’t know if she would ever be the same.  Thinking about what this might be doing to Samara was absolutely crippling.  She lay down in their oversized bed, _I’ll never share this bed with anyone else._   She clutched her arms to her breasts and curled into the fetal position.  She racked with sobs.

_What am I going to do with you Samara?_   Sam was smart, at least as smart as her parents.  If she hadn’t already figured it out, she’d soon know what happened to her _father_.  She was also very much like Shepard, she could very easily take this to heart, blaming herself for Shepard’s death and the agony he mother was feeling.  _How do I keep that from happening?_   This is something Liara would have asked Kelly, but Kelly was gone.  She could have also asked Aethyta, but she was gone too.  _I’m all alone, and I don’t know what to do._

Liara loved Samara, unconditionally and with the entirety of her being.  But she reminded her so much of Shepard.  Samara and Shepard had similar interests, similar mannerisms, she wore human-style clothes, played human sports and musical instruments, used human slang; everything she did reminded her of her dead mate and it felt like someone had punched her in the gut just thinking about it.  She needed to be there for her, Samara needed her mother.  _But it hurts so much!_

A knock at the door.

“Mother?  Are you there?”  Samara!  Liara’s heart skipped a few beats.

Liara was frozen.  She wanted to reach out to her daughter, to hold her tightly to her breast and tell her how much she loved her, and how everything would be alright.  _Baby, I love you, please don’t be sad._   But she just couldn’t do it.  _It just hurts so much._

“Mother,” Samara said haltingly.  Liara could see her out of the corner of her eye, leaning precariously on her cane, eyes flitting around the bedroom looking for all of the photos and knickknacks associated with Shepard that seemed to be missing.  _Say something, Liara!  Say anything!_   Liara’s thoughts screamed at her.  _Reach out to your daughter!  She needs you!  She needs to know you love her!  She needs to know this isn’t her fault!_

“Mother, are you ok?”

_Say something!  But, goddess, it hurts!  Just say something, she needs you!_

“Go away, Samara,” was all that Liara could get past her lips. 

Samara’s shoulders sank.


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note:   
> Song credit to Bob Dylan: ‘Knockn’ on Heaven’s Door’. Pick your version. Personally, I prefer the one where U2 and Bob Dylan are singing together.

**Chapter 3:**

_Mama, put my guns in the ground,_

_I can’t shoot them anymore._

_That long black cloud is comin’ down,_

_I feel like I’m knockin’ on heaven’s door._

Samara remembered the words to one of her _father’s_ favorite songs.  _She loved watching me sing and play the drums so much,_ she thought.  She shook her head.  _All of those songs had such sad lyrics.  Was I just bringing her down?_   She looked at her drum kit.  She had no desire to play, _ever again_.  She looked down at where her leg left off and the newly cloned replacement started.  The doctors said that the replacement would feel like her original equipment, a seamless integration.  In time she wouldn’t even be able to notice the _stump_.  She would be able to run, jump, play soccer, climb mountains, and play the drums just like before.

She looked at the drum kit again.  The drums reminded her of mom.  They reminded her of all of the _good_ times they had together playing songs which _seemed_ to make mom happy.  But all were so terribly sad in content, _was I helping or hurting?_   Samara couldn’t decide.

She broke out in a sweat.  The intersection of her old leg and new leg hurt.  The doctors said _that_ was psychosomatic.  They said the nerves had bonded properly and the sensation should pass in a few months.  _It’s all in your head, just keep telling yourself that._   Samara shifted her weight to her good leg and glared at the drums.  She suddenly felt so _empty_ inside.  She kicked the bass pedal with her _new_ leg.  The bass drum _thumped_ and echoed loudly in her parents’, her _mother’s_ , air-car garage.  She kicked it again.  _What did you ever bring me?  What did you ever bring my mom?_   Samara’s blood pressure increased, her _stump_ ached more.

She swung her cane at the cymbal stand.  _The doctors said the cane was_ also _psychosomatic, and that I won’t need it for much longer._   It clattered to the floor loudly.  She closed her eyes over tears, _why are you gone!  What else could I have done?_   She kicked at the snare drums, they fell over.  _How could you leave me?  What did I do?_   Samara whipped herself into a fury.  She stabbed and swung at the upended drum set with her cane piercing drumheads and crushing shells.  She lost track of herself in the destruction.  She could barely maintain her balance during the fury; the new leg just wasn’t up to the task.

Eventually she collapsed to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.  She never wanted to play the drums again, never wanted to sing any of the songs that her mom loved so much.  She missed her terribly, and she was terrified that she and her music might have had a small part in pushing her over the edge.

Finally the sobbing subsided enough for Samara’s eyes to clear.  She looked out of the garage doors towards Benezia’s gardens.  A hundred meters from her, near where the graves had been dug, stood an Asari silhouette.  _Who’s that?_

*****

Samara levered herself up and grabbed her cane.  She slowly made her way towards the gardens and the mysterious visitor.  The stranger didn’t face Samara.  She stood over the graves alternatively facing the Matriarch Aethyta or Shepard.  She seemed lost in thought. If she heard Samara she made no indication of it.

As Samara approached she started taking in details, _just like mom taught me_.  The stranger wore pants, boots, elbow length fingerless gloves, and a white vest, all made of leather.  She didn’t appear to be wearing anything else, Samara found herself vaguely aroused at the exposed skin.  She wasn’t armed but she projected a menace that even Shepard would have probably respected.  Her facial expression was stern.  She bore a thin pair of tattoos across her forehead.  _Goddess, this is Aria T’loak!_

“Do you feel better?” Aria asked dryly.  She didn’t bother turning to look.  “You made a lot of noise.  I thought you played better than that.”

“How did you get in here?”  Mother had a top-rate security system to keep people precisely like Aria out.

“I was a commando for over a century, I haven’t lost my touch.”  She turned to look at the young Maiden, “You certainly do look like the Matriarch Benezia, don’t you.  I guess I can’t hold that against you, though.”

Samara was too confused to take offense, or even know if she _should_ take offense, “Why are you here?”

Aria turned to look at the graves again.  She seemed lost in thought, almost _wistful._   “I came to pay my respects to Shepard, she helped me out once.  She deserved better than what she got.  Also, I wanted to visit Aethyta again.”  She paused, “The two of us had a, _history_.”  She looked at the Maiden severely, “I was never here, and you never heard me say that.”

Samara wilted.

Aria was silent for some time, looking back at the graves.  Then she turned to look Samara directly in the eyes.  She spoke evenly, almost softly.  But her face, this was Aria _the murderer_ talking:

“Listen to me very carefully.  I’m not one for repeating myself.  Nor am I one for giving advice, so let’s just say that I’m doing this out of respect for Shepard and your grandmothers.  This is not from the _kindness_ of my heart. 

“Shepard made her choice.  _You_ had nothing to do with it.  Do _not_ blame yourself for what happened to her.

“Shepard was a rare breed.  She did what she needed to do for the sake of us all.  She gave everything she had for the galaxy.  Your mother and you might have served as the faces of her motivation, but she would have still done it regardless.  _You_ did not make her put herself through the hell that was the war.  Do not blame yourself for why she fought.  It was just _her way_.

“She obviously loved you and your mother, but nothing _you_ did drove her to this.  It was probably unavoidable.  A flame that burns twice as bright lasts half as long, goes the human expression. 

“Know this, however; she lived as long as she did _because_ of you.  You gave her her life, just as much as she and your mother gave you yours.

“This isn’t on you Samara T’soni.  Remember that.  I speak truthfully.  If you want to honor Shepard, live your life in happiness.  That is what she would have wanted, and you know it.  Don’t take blame or sadness in how Shepard died, but joy in how she lived.”

Samara stood silently for a moment.  She was speechless.  The _Pirate Queen of Omega_ had just said what might have been the most profound thing Samara had ever heard.  It was totally out of character, at least according to what her parents had told her of.  She didn’t know how to respond, her mother broke the silence.

“Leave this place witch!” said Liara as she approached with a slight waddle.  A powerful mass effect field flickered about her body.  She had murder in her eyes, and the progressing pregnancy made her even more terrifying looking.  “You are _not_ welcome here!”

Aria regarded Liara severely.  Then she turned to look at Samara, “Think on what I said.”  Her face actually softened, and in a surprisingly _warm_ way she said, “I speak from experience on this.”  She paused, “Oh, and if you ever get the band back together, _The Blueberry Jam_ is welcome to play at _Afterlife_.  Though, you should be ashamed of yourself for such a terrible pun.”

With that she nodded curtly to Liara and walked away.

When she was gone Liara looked at her daughter.  The mass effect field flickered out of view.  “Listen to me Samara,” she said angrily.  “Whatever she said to you was a lie.  That’s what she does.  She lies and kills and you must not believe a thing she said.”

Samara’s heart sank.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:**

Liara heard what sounded like drums coming from the air-car garage.  _Good, she’s falling back on older,_ safer _, hobbies._   Liara was still in a state of shock, but at least now she could pull herself out of bed.  Some humans said there were stages to grief.  If such things were true, she was definitely in the _anger_ stage.

Sometimes the only thing that kept her sane was her Shadow Broker activities.  Completing the cover-up of Shepard’s suicide was particularly trying, but she had just rounded out the last loose end.  The Pierce County Coroner on Earth was having a crisis of conscience.  _Simple enough,_ Liara thought coldly; the Coroner’s daughter was shaken, but unhurt.  _Message sent, message received_ , the Coroner would not be a problem in the future.

The fact that she could so casually threaten a stranger’s daughter, but couldn’t relate to her own, was not lost on her.  In the months after Shepard’s death they had barely spoken.  Invariably Samara would try to reach out to her and, just as invariably, she would lock down with grief and become unable to speak with her.  Samara reminded her so vividly of Shepard that interacting with her daughter opened old wounds.

Unable to interact with her or not, Liara was capable of noticing a change in her daughter.  She was becoming more and more withdrawn.  She didn’t spend time with her friends.  She spent most of her time in her room, or disappeared into town.  As the Shadow Broker Liara could have immediately determined what she was up to, but she respected her privacy enough to let her find her own way.  _Plus, it hurts less if I don’t pry too deeply into her life._

Liara’s heart ached.  _I cannot keep ignoring this,_ she thought.  It was unfair to Samara to avoid her just because she so reminded her of Shepard.  _She must be hurting too, she needs you.  You can’t risk losing her too._   Her heart ached even more with that thought.  _What if I drive Samara to a bad end, just like I drove Shepard to hers?_   Liara shook her head.  No, she didn’t believe that.  Shepard made her choice, she might have thought she was doing the right thing, but it was _her_ choice.  Neither Liara nor Samara had _driven_ her to anything.

_Just talk to her!_   The thought came unbidden to Liara’s mind.  _But it hurts.  So what?  She needs you._   Liara shook her head, she felt awful as to how she had treated Samara.  She ground her teeth, _this changes now!  I owe it to her.  I owe it to Shepard._

*****

_Goddess!  What is this?_   Liara looked about the air-car garage; bits of smashed drum equipment laid everywhere.  Liara’s heart sank.  The sound she heard before must have been Samara smashing her drum kit.  Somehow she wasn’t surprised, though.  Liara knew how much Shepard liked to listen to Samara play the drums.  They both loved to sing together too.  Maybe she had just decided to act out.  It was a bit childish, but Samara was a child after all. 

She toed one of the cymbals on the floor.  She didn’t bother trying to pick it up; with her swelling pregnancy she just wasn’t as flexible as she used to be.  _Twins!  Goddess, I’m having twins!_   Multiple births were relatively rare amongst her people, but everything was going smoothly.  It just made it hard for her to bend over, even this early, relatively speaking, in the pregnancy.  _Goddess, Shepard!  I’m having twins and you’re not here for me!_   Her eyes teared up.

As if she needed more evidence that she needed to speak with her daughter, she was sure of it now.  Sam was obviously hurting to have wrecked one of her favorite possessions.  _I’m sorry Victoria; I’m not doing a good job of this.  I owe our daughter better, and she’s going to get it._   She paused, _I’m talking to myself, shit._

She rubbed her sore back as she walked out of the garage.  She looked around, wondering where Samara might have gone.  She glimpsed two Asari figures standing near the graves.  One leaned on a cane, Samara, and listened as another spoke.  _That looks like… oh shit!_

*****

_No!  No, you will_ not _hurt my baby, you murdering bitch!_   Liara closed the distance to the graves just as fast as she could waddle.  She could have used a biotic storm, but she was laying off of the heavy biotics as much as possible until after the births.  All of the pain that had come to be associated with speaking with her daughter bled away in an instant of maternal rage.

_I’ve treated you so poorly, Samara.  You didn’t deserve any of the cold stares.  I shouldn’t have ignored you all of those times.  But I am not going to let this woman poison your thoughts with her lies, whatever crazy thing she’s telling you now._

Liara enveloped herself in a biotic field, “Leave this place witch!”

Aria T’loak regarded her coolly, Samara looked surprised.  “You are _not_ welcome here.” 

Liara gave Aria her best ‘death stare’ while she bid goodbye to Samara and left.  When she was gone she looked at her daughter, “Listen to me Samara.  Whatever she said to you was a lie.  That’s what she does.  She lies and kills and you must not believe a thing she said.”

Samara’s shoulders slumped.  “But, Mother…”

Liara cut her off, “No Samara, listen to me.  I don’t care what she had to say to you.  You cannot believe any of it.”  Samara gave her a jaw-dropped expression.  “She’s one of the most evil people your _father_ and I have ever met.”

“But, Mother…”

“I don’t care Samara!  I don’t care what she said!  She doesn’t care about you like I do, like Shepard did.”

“You care about me?”

“What do you think?” Liara said, more aggressively than she intended. 

The rage against Aria gone, Liara started withdrawing from her daughter again.  She wanted to reach out to her, to touch her, to take her into her arms and tell her that she was _so_ loved and that everything would be alright.  But she couldn’t, she just couldn’t.  She looked into Samara’s eyes, and she saw Shepard’s.  All she could feel and remember was Shepard’s loss, not the joy they had all shared.  It was poisoning her, wringing the life out of her relationship with her daughter, and she was powerless to stop it.  _Goddess help me!_

A heavy silence hung in the air.  After a few moments Samara’s shoulders slumped again, and she turned to hobble away. 

Liara tried to pursue her, but she couldn’t.  When Samara was out of view, she broke into tears and fell to her knees over Shepard’s grave.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5:**

Samara looked at her mother.  She sat on a rocking chair on the veranda nursing the twins.  She swayed back and forth gently humming to her daughters.  A faint mass effect field flickered in and out of view; it made balancing the two infants, just shy of 14 months old and quite large, easier.  Liara could nurse them simultaneously this way.

She never saw her mother so happy as when she was with the twins.  Her face softened so much; her tone became joyful and loving.  Liara hardly looked at her like that anymore.  Truly, Samara was beginning to get the distinct sense that her mother no longer cared for her.  More specifically, Samara feared that her mother blamed her for the death of her wife.  Either that or she so vividly reminded her of her departed mate it hurt to interact with her.  She wasn’t sure which was worse.

It was all Samara could think about.  Whenever her mother looked at her, she could _feel_ the sadness.  She could sense the _anger_.  It was a shroud.  It surrounded her very being, smothering her, choking away the light so she was only left with her own dark thoughts.  Samara didn’t know what to do.  She didn’t know who to talk to.  Shepard _was_ her center.  Samara modeled her life on her _father_.  Shepard and her mother formed the core of her entire psyche.  Kelly and her grand _father_ rounded out their varied and wonderful extended family.  She had felt so sure of herself, so secure knowing they were there for her.  But Shepard was gone, _they were all gone_.  _And the only other adult in my life seems to want to have nothing to do with me_ , she lamented to herself.  It seemed, to Samara at least, that her whole world was falling apart.

On an intellectual level, Samara knew that wasn’t true.  Her mother loved her, she always had, and she always would.  The coldness she displayed towards her had to be a result of the way her mate had left.  She would come around.  _Right?  She’ll come around?_   Samara wanted to believe that, but the emotions clouded her reason.

Samara despaired.  Her mother was a broken shell of the woman she once was because of what Shepard did.  And Shepard died because of what _she_ did; there was no two ways about it.  _She_ had killed her!  _She_ had tried to emulate her _father_ , and when she got hurt Shepard decided she couldn’t risk it happening again.  But Shepard was wrong, she hadn’t saved anyone.  Shepard’s death had brought her family nothing but pain.  _Mom made a mistake, and she did it because of me!  And now I’m a symbol of that loss, now_ I’m _causing her pain._    

_Oh goddess!  I killed mom!_   Samara collapsed to her knees.  She covered her eyes and cried.  _I did it, it was me.  I took mom away from mother, and I did it because I was too_ stupid _to understand that I was just a kid.  I had no business trying to emulate her.  Oh goddess, it’s all my fault!_   That thought, and that thought alone, circled through her consciousness, repeating upon itself.  Samara was convinced it was true.

_It’s all my fault!_

She sobbed for some time, the thoughts raced through her mind.  Shepard had taken her life in an effort to not expose her to any more of her past.  She didn’t want to risk her trying to emulate _Viking Vikki_ any more than she already had.  Shepard had hoped that perhaps her wife and her daughter would move on with their lives, unburdened of the latent risk of her background.  But she had made a mistake, there was no going back.  What was done was done, and in killing herself she had removed the one variable from the equation that could have possibly healed her family. 

_It’s lost, it’s all lost!_

Shepard had left a daughter who would never forgive herself for having a part in her _father’s_ death.  Shepard had left a wife who could barely look at her daughter without remembering the woman she was.  Samara was too much like Shepard and, try as she did, Liara just couldn’t forget that Victoria had killed herself because of her.  Samara was _sure_ of that.  Liara had written her off.  Not out of any particular malice, but because it hurt too much not to.  Her mother couldn’t handle the pain anymore, and the best she could do was to just push her daughter and the memory of her departed mate from her mind. 

_I’m alone, I’m all alone!_

_The twins are everything to her_ , Samara thought.  _They’re the Shepard that never was; pure, innocent._   Samara squeezed her eyes tightly over tears, _the twins are all she needs now, I’m just a painful memory.  She doesn’t care about me anymore because it hurts too much to._ Then she thought for a moment about the encounter with Aria.  Her mother _did_ seem to be defending her from a perceived threat.  _No, that wasn’t what she was doing.  She just didn’t want Aria near her mate’s grave.  She_ did _say that Aria was lying to her.  It really_ was _her fault._

_Oh goddess, it’s all my fault!_

Samara wanted to rage at her mother for the abandonment, but she couldn’t.  She understood.  It just _hurt_ too much.  They were so happy.  Happier than anyone she had ever met.  They had lived through hell, and now they were enjoying life.  Shepard had literally saved the universe for her beloved, _and then_ I _screwed it up!_   She opened her eyes and looked at her _father’s_ grave.  She didn’t even remember walking to it she was so lost in her own thoughts.

“You thought it would help,” she said to the nearly two year old grave marker.  “You thought that if you just stepped away then we could go on in peace.  I’d stop trying to be you, and mother and I would be ok.”  She clenched her fist, “But you were wrong!  You didn’t solve anything!  Mother is in agony.  She knows that it was _my_ fault.  She knows that you only killed yourself because of what _I_ did.  She _hates_ me!  She can’t even _look_ at me!”  She shook her head.  “I’m so sorry mom; I never wanted this to happen.  I was so sure you would approve, be proud of me!  I’d never have done it if I knew this would happen.  It’s all my fault, mom.”

Samara’s muscles tensed.  She clenched her jaw.  She worked her fist.  Samara closed her eyes.  “You tried mom,” she said with resolve, “but it didn’t work out.  The twins deserve better.  Mother deserves better.”  She gasped despite herself, “I’m not going to stick around if it’s only going to make them sad.”

Her back straightened, she looked towards the horizon, Samara felt at peace in her resolve.  “I think I know what I have to do, mom.  I’ll try not to let you down again.”

Samara turned to look back at her home.  She could just barely make out her mother on the veranda.  “Goodbye mother,” she turned and walked away without a second glance.


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors Note: Song credit to Savatage, ‘Surrender’.

**Chapter 6:**

_Goddess, it’s about time!_   Liara sighed.  The twins had finally fallen asleep, the baby monitor application on her omni-showed the both snoozing peacefully.  _They’re so angelic when they’re asleep_ , she thought to herself.  Then she winced as she massaged a nipple, _or when they’re not biting me._   Liara sighed again, _Shepard was always better at getting Samara to sleep_.

The young Asari Matron frowned.  She was doing better this year.  A year ago today, on the eve of the _first_ anniversary of Shepard’s death, she was a near-catatonic wreck.  Two wailing newborns and a twenty-one year old daughter who was becoming more and estranged from her made coming to grips with her beloved’s suicide all the more impossible.

She remembered going through several different emotions in those early days, especially immediately following Victoria’s death.  Apparently the humans once thought there were actually several discrete stages of grief; _not that she had experienced all of them, or in the_ correct _order_.  Still, aside from the near constant and crushing depression brought on by her loss, there were a few noticeable other emotions she had become acquainted with.

For a few, fleeting, moments she had denied that it was even possible that Shepard would kill herself.  They had everything; a family, friends, a home, and _peace_.  They were _so_ in love.  They were _each other;_ an indescribable whole, greater than the sum of their parts.  It was glorious.  _She couldn’t, she didn’t, Victoria would_ never _, this must be a mistake,_ those were the thoughts.  She would not accept what the two Alliance officers standing in her foyer were telling her.  But that had all ended when they had laid Victoria’s casket at the center of the Alliance Parliament House’s rotunda.  In _that_ moment, she knew.  She was alone, Victoria had left her, and it made her mad.

Liara liked to think of herself as compassionate and slow to anger; _even keeled, as the humans would say_.  She had her _Shadow Broker_ persona which could be brutal and calculating, surely, but she never acted capriciously or vindictively.  However, when she thought about Victoria just leaving _, abandoning,_ them like she did; Liara ground her teeth at the thought.  She spent the rest of the memorial service in such a rage, she hardly remembered it.  She did, however, remember looking at Samara with fury in her eyes.  She sighed again, _oh my darling Samara, I’m so sorry how I’ve treated you._

When Liara wasn’t lost in her grief she could look at it objectively.  She loved Samara, completely and unequivocally.  Any animosity she directed towards her first-born was purely a function of the loss she was still coming to grips with.  Samara reminded her so much of Shepard.  When she looked at her, she saw Victoria.  She didn’t blame her for her death, _how could she_?  Though, she feared that Samara might perceive it as such.  _She knows how much I love her, right?_ Liara thought to herself.

Liara clenched and unclenched her fists, _if she doesn’t, she needs to_ , she thought to herself.  _I’ve waited too long to make sure she knows how much I love her.  I need to overcome this, I owe it to her.  Goddess, I owe it to Shepard.  She did what she did because she thought it would_ help _, I’ll be damned if_ I _allow things to get worse for our baby._  

She strode gracefully about the house, but could not find Samara.  Liara checked her omni-tool again; the twins were still asleep, as she stepped outside and walked towards the air-car garage.  “Samara, sweetie?” she called out as she entered the garage.  Over the past two years Samara had a habit of disappearing for hours, sometimes a day or two at a time; she suspected that she came here to be alone.  _The guest house would be more comfortable_ , she thought.  _Though, that conjures too many memories of Kelly and Aethyta_.

“Samara?”  She was nowhere to be seen.  She walked past the drum kit towards an easel with a cloth draped over it.  _Oh, she loved the drums so much,_ Liara thought.  She smiled at how much joy both Samara and Victoria took in music.  Despite giving it up for a few years, Samara had very recently taken it back up; she even got some new equipment.  _She was so heartbroken when_ The Blueberry Jam’s _bassist moved back to Earth for college,_ she frowned slightly, _and found out she actually preferred human men to Asari._ She remembered them being such a cute couple, even if her baby was too young to be dating anyone in the first place.  Shepard had _actually_ cleaned her weapons at the breakfast nook’s table the first night Samara brought her home.  She chuckled at the memory, especially since Shepard had taken the time to explain the cliché. 

She directed her attention towards the easel.  Gently lifting the cloth cover she inhaled sharply.  The painting was a nearly complete true-to-life portrait of the Matriarch Aethyta and her bondmate Kelly Chambers.  They embraced tenderly, eyes closed, gentle smiles on their faces.  Liara’s heart ached for more lost family.  Then it hurt even more when she realized how bad it must have been for Samara.  Her little girl loved her grand _father_.  She and Kelly were like an additional set of parents for her.  Samara had taken the Matriarch’s death poorly, but what happened to Kelly was so much worse.  _She saw her die!_ Liara lamented to herself. 

Liara felt even worse about how she had treated Samara over the past two years.  _You didn’t deserve any of it,_ she thought, _I just didn’t know how to cope, and there was no one else for you to lean on.  I failed you._   The grief washed over her again.  _It just hurt so much to be near you.  You’re so much like her._ She missed Shepard so much, and she felt so guilty for how she had treated their daughter after her death.

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and bowed her head.  _That stops today.  Samara needs my love, not anger, not detachment.  Shepard isn’t here for us anymore, but I’m going to be there for Samara._   She clenched her jaw with resolve and opened her eyes.  Then she noticed the foot locker.  _Isn’t that Shepard’s locker from_ Normandy _?_   She glided towards it, gently hiked up her robes, and kneeled before the old battered container.  The clasp was unlocked so she opened it and looked inside. 

Liara smiled at the contents.  The inside of the lid was covered with photographs of Victoria and her daughter.  Various poses, different locales, they looked so happy together.  Then Liara’s gaze drifted towards a blood-spattered golden gorget.  She squeezed her eyes shut, _Shepard said Samara had worn the Justicar’s gorget in the alley in New Orleans._   Despite all that happened, she couldn’t bear to throw it away.  She shook her head and noticed a large piece of folded parchment.  Liara took it up in her delicate blue hands and unfolded it.  One side had printed music, the human chromatic scale that Samara favored.  There were some lyrics and copyright information scrawled on it as well.

_…Children and mirrors have no memory,_

_They reflect us for that is all they see,_

_They are the us that is still yet to be,_

_And so we carry on…_

Liara cocked an _eyebrow_ at the meaning, and then she flipped the parchment to the other side.  She gasped.  Liara looked at the sketch of what would have become another one of Samara’s true-to-life paintings.  Victoria Shepard stood on the craggy top of a mountain.  Her hair billowed in wind.  Her head was tipped back and her arms spread as if she were about to dive off the edge.  Liara’s pulse quickened.  Next to her, in a similar pose, with a similar look of peaceful acceptance on her face, was their daughter Samara T’soni.

Liara trembled; she quickly flipped the paper over again and read the rest of the song’s lyrics.  Her jaw dropped with sudden realization.  The sudden change in habits, taking up music and art again, she could have sworn she was smiling last time she saw Samara; it was out of character for all of the aloofness over the past year.  A terrible conclusion was forming in Liara’s mind, tenuous at first; she dared not fully accept it.  Then she noticed the small black polymer case that sat below the parchment.  She opened the already unlocked lid.  The inside was lined with foam; a pistol was conspicuously missing from the pistol-shaped foam cut-out.  _Oh goddess!  Samara!  Baby, no!_

Liara scrambled to her feet and activated her omni-tool.  _Please no!_


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7:**

Samara looked at the memorial.  The Paradise Visitor Center in Mt. Rainer National Park was _completely_ festooned with floral wreaths and small candles, and it was _not_ a small building.  It had been only two years since the _Savior of the Galaxy_ had died in her _climbing accident_ , and mourners still regularly left mementos near where she passed away.  There _were_ a few mourners milling about, but somehow Samara thought there would be more on the anniversary.  Then she looked at the sky, the weather was turning, definitely not climbing weather.  _They must all have gone home to stay dry,_ she thought to herself.

Samara had dressed to be inconspicuous.  She wore her old _The North Face_ climbing jacket, and carried a well-worn backpack.  She kept her hood up over her head and zipped the zipper up to her chin.  She didn’t want to be noticed too soon; at least not until she could find her _mark_.  This was the one bit of her plan that was left most up to chance.

Getting through customs had been laughable.  _Mother taught me too well, inadvertently I’m sure_ , she thought.  Samara had put the pieces together long ago, though, for a different purpose.  There was a time when Samara was convinced that the only reason her parents wouldn’t let her participate in the _family business_ was that they thought she wasn’t sufficiently capable.  So, she had _practiced_.  She had intended to earn their respect and forging travel documents and breaching customs was just one of the things she would use to showcase her skills. 

When the data mining programs she’d salted through her mother’s system alerted her to the New Orleans mission, she had decided it was time for her _graduation exercise_.  She successfully got herself to the target area, with the body armor she had smuggled to Earth, but then everything went _sideways.  Oh what a fool I was!_   Samara lamented to herself.  _I thought I was tough shit_ , she sighed in inner anguish, _and_ _all I did was get mom killed.  And Aunt Kelly._   She clenched her jaw in renewed resolve, _still, it’ll help me make things right.  Mother is not going to be sad anymore._  

She had known for some time it would come to this.  Over the months she put her plan together, always striving to maintain a low profile.  She recalled the grief counseling her mother forced her into.  She resented it with a passion.  From Samara’s point of view her mother was just rubbing her nose in it.  _She had killed her father, she knew it; forcing her to talk about it with a stranger only forced her to dwell on it.  Icing on the cake,_ as the humans would say.  She remembered the incessant questions; _do you ever want to harm yourself?_  The answer was always _no._   _Do you have a plan to harm yourself?_   _No._   _If you thought you were going to harm yourself, would you ask for help?  Yes._   It was easy; she told them what they wanted to hear.  Her parents had taught her _operational security._  

Booking passage to Earth without her mother noticing was simple enough; she knew how to circumvent her eavesdropping software.  Gone were the days where Shepard would chide her about leaving an extranet search log behind her whenever she went online looking for porn.  Smuggling her mom’s M77 Paladin service pistol to Earth was equally trivial.  Since the end of the Reaper War the Alliance had relaxed its overzealous travel security protocols.  It was all falling into place, just one thing left to accomplish.

She almost laughed to herself.  For all of the planning, she had left the last stage up to chance.  She figured it wasn’t a big risk, but it was truly out of her hands.  She was counting on a Park Ranger to fly her up to Little Tahoma.  _Why did I do it this way?_ Samara wondered.  She had a theory.  Some part of her, deep down, was trying to prevent this from happening.  A little voice was saying, _please don’t do this._   Figuratively, of course, Samara smirked, she didn’t actually hear voices.  She wasn’t _crazy_. 

It did beg the question, though, _why does part of me not want to do this?_   Samara was fairly sure she knew.  She was afraid, plain and simple.  She was afraid it would hurt.  She was afraid all of that nonsense religious crap that Ashley mentioned from time to time was real.  She was afraid of _doing it wrong_.  _Goddess,_ Samara thought, _what if I fuck this up?_   She didn’t want to be a vegetable or a brain damaged invalid.  _Mother already has enough diapers to change_ , she thought.  She shuddered.  Somehow screwing up your own suicide seemed like adding insult to injury.

The door to the visitor center swung open, a middle aged Park Ranger strode out towards a utility air-car.  Samara smiled, she couldn’t have asked for a better accomplice.  Human males had a near-universal fascination with Asari, and Samara was youthful enough to make anyone hot under the collar.  She followed the Ranger as he gathered up a heavy canvas sack and a pair of leather gloves.  He didn’t seem to notice her as he dropped the items into the open flat-bed and circled towards the driver’s door.

“Pardon me?” the Ranger jumped at the sound of her voice.  His annoyed expression melted into a smile when he saw her face.  _Bingo!_  

“Yes, Miss?  Can I help you?”

Samara pointed to the air-car, “Are you heading up top?”

The Ranger sighed and scowled, “I’m not a taxi service.”

Samara pouted, the Ranger’s face softened somewhat.  “I,” she paused, “I wanted to pay my respects.”

“You too?” he asked.  “Listen kid, I’ve been cleaning up candles and wreaths all week.  That’s where I’m going now.”

“So, can you give me a lift?”

“I just told you I’m not a taxi service.”

_I’m losing him_ , she thought.  Samara reached into her jacket and produced a photograph.  She walked up to the Ranger and stood close to him.  Pulling her hood back to expose her youthful face she could feel his heart rate accelerate.  She held the photograph next to her face so he could compare, “I used to climb up there with my mom,” she said and paused, “I wanted to spend a few moments where she passed.”

The Ranger’s eyes went wide with realization.  “You’re her…”  Samara held her finger to her lips and he fell silent.

“I don’t want anyone to know who I am.  I wanted some quiet time.  You know,” she shrugged.   
“Could you help me out?”

The Ranger looked at the sky, “Weather’s turning rapidly.  That’s why I wanted to clean up all that junk, err…” Samara frowned, “all of that tribute before the wind blows it all over the park.”  He looked into her face and sighed, “You’ll only have a little while, but ok.  Hop in.”

Samara remembered to breathe.  She did it!  Hurdle cleared, her heart fluttered.  _Relief or dread_ , she wondered.  _Doesn’t matter; almost there, mom._   Samara placed her pack in the cargo bed and climbed into the air-car’s cab.  “Thanks Mister.”  The Ranger fired up the air-car’s engine and they were off.  The flight to the top of Little Tahoma took but a few silent minutes.  Sam was thankful for the lack of conversation; she didn’t want to have to deal with questions about what it was like to be Shepard’s daughter or anything similarly annoying. 

They reached the summit of Little Tahoma and the air-car settled onto a small flat spot.  Its engine kept it stationary as they disembarked.  Samara looked around, _just like old times_.  Except for the obvious changes, there weren’t any wreaths or candles or flowers last time she was here with Shepard, the summit felt familiar.  _Goddess, I miss you,_ she thought removing her pack from the cargo bed.  She turned to look at the Ranger; he retrieved his equipment and set to work on the litter. 

As soon as she was sure the Ranger wasn’t looking, Samara tapped out a few discreet commands on her omni-tool.  Then she powered it off for the last time, not even noticing the three dozen missed messaged marked _urgent_.  Samara spied a familiar boulder and sat down.  She looked out at the swirling rapidly darkening clouds, and thought of times past. 

Suddenly the Ranger’s omni-tool came to life.  Samara smiled to herself as she heard the Ranger acknowledge the ‘emergency call’ coming from Rainer’s summit.  “Miss, I have to go grab a couple of stranded climbers off of Rainer.”

“Oh?” she asked innocently.

“We won’t all fit.  I’ll send someone back for you in a few minutes; will you be ok up here?  Do you have an emergency shelter in that pack of yours?”

“Yes, sir.  I’ll be fine,” she said with a barely suppressed smirk.

The Ranger nodded and climbed aboard his air-car.  A wave and he was gone. 

Samara took a deep breath.

No sooner had the engine sound dissipated and Samara opened her pack.  She looked down at Shepard’s old service pistol and sighed.  Then Samara looked at the photograph again.  _Oh mom.  I’m so sorry.  Why couldn’t I have just listened to you?  ‘Leave the war in our past.’  ‘Chart your own course in peace.’  I’m such an idiot._

Samara returned her photograph to her breast pocket and sighed.  Tears forming in her eyes she reached for the M77 Paladin.  Her hand stopped short, much to her own surprise. 

_Shepard didn’t raise a coward!_  She screamed to herself, _why are you stopping?_

_Maybe this isn’t what mom would do.  What will this do to mother?_

_Yes!  It is!  This is exactly what mom_ did _!  Mother is in pain and we caused it.  She’ll always be in pain.  I killed mom, and she’ll never forgive me; she’ll never forget.  The twins are her world now; they deserve a mother unburdened by this sadness!_

_I’m afraid._

_We’re always afraid!  But, not for much longer._

Samara reached for the pistol, her fingertips made contact with the polymer grip and a figurative electric shock ran through her body.  Suddenly it was real, this wasn’t an academic exercise.  She was actually going to do it.  The realization made her uncomfortable at first, _I’m afraid_ , but then a calm swept over her, _almost there, mom._

Then she heard it; an air-car engine, different in pitch than the Ranger’s, and roaring at full throttle.  _Someone is in a hurry._   A sudden blur and a candy-apple-red two-seat sports air-car rocketed not ten meters above Samara’s head.  Normally she would have dove for the ground, save for the unearthly serenity she now felt.  The red air-car pulled into a tight Immelmann and spiraled back down towards the summit.  The throttle chopped back and the new arrival settled into the same spot the Ranger had recently vacated.

Samara scowled.  She wanted some _quiet time_.  If she wanted an audience she would have leapt off of a building onto a crowded street.  Instead she wanted a private moment with the memory of her _father_.  Why else would she send the Ranger away on a fake emergency call?  A familiar face climbed from the cockpit.  China doll white skin, silken jet-black hair, a stunning figure wrapped in a tightly fit business suit, Samara found herself immediately aroused despite everything else on her mind.  _Miranda!_

“Hi Miranda, fancy meeting you here,” Samara said, trying to sound casual.

“Fancy indeed, Samara,” Miranda replied striding towards the young Asari.  Samara found herself watching the sway of her hips, and the way her breasts jumped slightly each time one of her feet made contact with the ground.  _Goddess she’s hot._   She shook herself, _stay focused._   “What brings you up here on such a cruddy day?”

“I could ask the same of you.”

Miranda stopped a few paces short of the Maiden.  Her facial expression was even, but Samara could detect a tension in her posture.  _She knows._   “I received a message from your mother.  You disappeared from the house, she was worried.”

“And what made you think you’d find me here?”

“Woman’s intuition,” she threw a hip to the side and rested her hand on it.  Miranda’s facial expression softened, “Sam, what are you doing here?”

_It’s not too late, she wants to help you_ , part of Samara’s subconscious said to her.  _She’s going to try to stop you, don’t allow that to happen,_ said another part.  “Mom and I used to climb here.  I wanted to see the place again.”

“Is that all?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

“Your mother is concerned.  You up and disappear from Thessia, and wind up here?”

“I’m surprised she even noticed I was gone.  She doesn’t seem to care about me much anymore.  Probably remind her too much of mom.”

“How can you believe that?”

“How can I not?”

There was a pregnant silence. 

Samara looked into Miranda’s eyes.  Beautiful but cold, Samara couldn’t be sure if she knew what she was up to and was preparing to stop her, or if she was just a concerned friend looking to comfort her.  _If she really knew, she’d have knocked you out and taken you home already_ , she realized.  Samara felt torn.  Part of her, she understood now, didn’t want to do this.  The other part, however, felt a frantic desperation that she was so close but Miranda might stop her.  _The fact that she couldn’t stop staring at her tits was just complicating things._

“Do you honestly think that your mother could ever stop loving you?” Miranda asked evenly.  She seemed a bit cold.  Not disinterested, but cold.  _Perhaps this is the_ Illusive Man _speaking?_   Samara smiled internally that she wasn’t supposed to know about that.   

“You’d have to ask her Miranda,” Samara replied curtly, “I’ve barely spoken with her in over a year.” 

“Why’s that?” she took a small step towards her. 

“Probably because I killed mom,” Samara replied matter-of-factly.

“That’s bullshit.”

“Is it?”  She looked around.  Motioning to the swirling clouds, “Mom didn’t jump off this mountain until after I got hurt; after I got hurt trying to emulate her.  Even after all of that shit she saw in the War.  It wasn’t until after New Orleans.”  She fixed Miranda in her gaze, “My mother is not stupid.  She can put two and two together.”

“Don’t be such a whiny little bitch, Samara.  You’re better than that, and we both know it.” 

Samara’s _eyebrows_ popped up at that, she definitely wasn’t anticipating any vulgarity from the human woman.  _Whiny bitch, huh?  So much for being the stoic hero that mom was._  

“Did I upset you?” Miranda asked tauntingly. 

_Looks like she’s going to try to upset me, goad me into backing down_ , Samara thought.  _Sorry Miranda, wrong strategy._

When Samara didn’t respond, Miranda’s eyes narrowed.  She changed tack.  “Sam,” she said, sitting down on a boulder next to Samara’s, “Don’t do this, Sam.”  Her tone changed, she sounded almost warm.  “This is not what Shepard would have wanted.”

“How’s that?”

“Shepard made a mistake, Samara,” Miranda said plainly.  “She didn’t know what else to do.  All those experiences in the War, all that horror, she had settled down into a life of love and peace, and when something happened to endanger that, she didn’t know what to do.”

Samara merely looked at her silently.

“You were her everything, Samara.  Her entire being, it was all for you.  I see so much of her in you, Samara.  We all do, especially your mother.” 

Samara’s heart lurched within her chest.  _That’s it, that’s why Mother can’t stand me.  I’m too much like her._   Miranda had given voice to what she had known all along.  Still, hearing someone else say it carried more weight.  It was vindication, a validation of her guilt.  _Thank you, Miranda; I think I’m ready now._

Samara smiled, much to Miranda’s surprise.  “Do you think she would be proud of me?”

“Of course, whatever you choose to do in life, she would be proud of you,” Miranda responded, “Both of your parents,” she paused, “If I could have children, I could only wish they were like you.”

Samara took a deep breath, she felt a beautiful serenity.  She reached down into her pack.  She could sense Miranda tense in her peripheral field of view.  “Cliff Bar?” she asked pulling a plastic wrapper from the pack.

“Sure,” Miranda replied.

Samara tossed it in her direction, but just out of reach.  Miranda couldn’t catch it, and when she turned to pick it up off of the ground Samara reached back into her pack and placed her fingers around the grip of the M77 Paladin. 

Miranda turned just in time to see Samara place the pistol inside of her mouth and pull the trigger.

*****

Miranda Lawson sat in stunned silence for several minutes.  Then she wiped the brain matter from her eyes.


	9. Epilogue

**Epilogue:**

Liara was too grief stricken to cry.  It was all too much.  _First Shepard, now Samara, how could I let this happen?_   Liara felt like she was to blame, _what could I have done, why did this happen?_   The guilt was a palpable weight upon her chest.

A pair of arms squeezed her shoulders.  Liara opened her eyes to look into the face of the Matriarch Lidanya; the only other Asari to visit Samara’s grave.  The long-lived Asari frowned upon suicide; for a people who valued the long-view it was considered _wasteful_.  Liara wondered how many Matriarchs would have come to Shepard’s memorial if they had known the truth.

“Liara,” Lidanya said softly, “this is not your fault.”  She tried to sound reassuring despite her own grief.  Childless herself, Lidanya had virtually adopted Samara after Shepard began teaching at the University of Serrice.  “Please, don’t blame yourself.”

Liara nodded, but she didn’t agree.  _This is completely my fault,_ she thought to herself.   _I wasn’t there for her after Shepard’s death.  I acted so poorly towards her.  I made it seem like I blamed her for Victoria’s fate.  It was me.  I_ murdered _our little girl._   Then the tears came.  Then the sobs.  Her body wracked in agony.  Her lungs clawed for air.  Her skin turned purple.  _It’s all my fault.  It’s all my fault._   The thoughts repeated in her mind.  Lidanya embraced her, but that only made it worse.  _I don’t deserve your comfort!  I did this!  I wasn’t there for my daughter and this was the only thing she thought she could do to make things right.  I failed!  It’s all my fault!_

The anguish came on in waves.  She relived Shepard’s death.  _She thought she was going to stop hurting me, that she was the source of my pain._   She projected that perception, accurately, onto Samara’s death.  _Samara thought she was the source of my pain, that she took Shepard from me, that I_ hated _her for it, so she wanted to take that pain away!_   She hadn’t done anything to dissuade Samara from feeling that way.  She was just so _cold_ to her after Victoria’s death.  _When I was angry at Victoria for her actions I directed that at Samara.  I was too anguished by Shepard’s death to open up to Samara, to tell her how I felt.  How could she have known?  I_ should _have known.  This is all my fault!_

_This is all my fault!_

Liara’s eyes dried somewhat.  She could make out Miranda Lawson’s figure through the blur.  She gently knelt before each grave marker and placed a small rock on them.  _Did she bring those with her?_   Liara didn’t know what she was doing.  The scientist in her figured that it was some sort of human custom.  Miranda stood and bowed her head.  She was mourning too.

Liara knew, through her Shadow Broker files, that Miranda was sterile.  Over the years it had become obvious that she took a keen interest in Samara, always sending her discreet gifts.  That’s why she was the first person Liara thought to call when she realized what Samara might be attempting.  It also helped that she was most likely to be near Earth.  Though, Liara knew that Miranda would do whatever she could, regardless of where she was.  _The fact that she was just not quick enough to help Samara must weigh heavily on her_ , she thought.  Liara reached out to her when her back stiffened and she strode purposely away without a second glance.

_I’m all alone.  I’m all alone, and this is all my fault._

She heard little Benezia fussing through the ‘baby monitor’ application on her omni-tool.

Liara made a choice.

She steeled herself, and resolved to do something Shepard once told her was one of the only ways she could even begin to cope with the horrors that she’d seen.  Something that she had worked with Shepard on letting go, to put the War behind her once and for all.  Liara decided to bury her memories of Samara, deep down where the grief and guilt that she might have, _goddess, probably did,_ cause her death couldn’t hurt her.  It would take years, perhaps even centuries, but Liara T’soni began her effort to suppress the memories of her first-born beloved daughter.  She needed to.  She couldn’t let the guilt overtake her.  The twins needed her.  They needed a mother, complete and whole, unburdened by the deaths of their _father_ and older sister.  _It had to be this way.  Goddess, I love you both_ so _much.  Please forgive me._  

Of course, the resolution itself brought on guilt of its own.

But, she suppressed that too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note:
> 
> Thank you for reading this, and sticking with it through the end. This story was difficult for me to write, but I wanted to finish telling Samara’s story. Writing this story, and describing Victoria and her family’s journey as a whole, has been a very cathartic experience for me, and I’d like to thank all of those who have been there for me offering encouragement and test reading during the process; you know who you are.
> 
> I know all of my stories have been very hard on Shepard and her family, but so is life. I appreciate you staying with it. On that note, however, I don’t think we have seen the last of Victoria Shepard and her beloved Liara. The universe is vast and infinite, and there are undoubtedly other realities left to explore where Viking Vikki might have a better go of things. 
> 
> Stay tuned!


End file.
